


Never the villain (of your own story)

by DumpsterDiving101, MagicaDraconia16



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate POV, Art, Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Gen, Hydra (Marvel), Marvel Reverse Big Bang 2020, Post-HYDRA Reveal, Pre-Hydra in SHIELD Reveal (Marvel), Rumlow's POV, mostly - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-24
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-17 11:28:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28599204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DumpsterDiving101/pseuds/DumpsterDiving101, https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagicaDraconia16/pseuds/MagicaDraconia16
Summary: All of Brock Rumlow's problems can be traced back to one man - HYDRA's archenemy, Captain America.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 10
Collections: Marvel Reverse Big Bang 2020





	Never the villain (of your own story)

**Author's Note:**

> My second entry for the Marvel Reverse Big Bang 2020, inspired by the wonderful art done by DumpsterDiving101, found here in the fic and [tumblr](https://dansphlevels.tumblr.com/post/641224017532092416/art-for-magicadraconia16s-story-never-the) as well so you can go give it the separate love it deserves.

__

_It was a real shame_ , Brock Rumlow thought as he watched Captain America casually leap out of the quinjet. The Captain and the Asset would have made a wonderful team, with one being able to work out in the open while the other one hunted from the shadows.

Unfortunately, though, the Captain was on the wrong side.

“Did he just jump without a parachute?” Rollins asked, incredulously, peering over Brock’s shoulder.

“Yes.” Brock couldn’t help the smirk that emerged. What a wonderful precedent the Captain was setting. “Yes, he did.” A very handy one if they ever needed to explain certain… things in the future.

Leading the rest of the STRIKE team down – _with_ parachutes, thank you very much. Not everyone could be a supersoldier, after all – Brock studied the ship underneath them as it grew closer. It was sitting quietly in the water, the ends of it blending into the night as half the lights were off. He could see the middle of it well enough, though, as floodlights lit the deck. He was getting close enough that he could just about see the good Captain doing what he did best; fighting the good fight.

Except he obviously wasn’t good _enough_ , as there was a pirate standing behind him about to shoot him. Shaking his head, Brock drew his own gun and fired at the pirate. The Captain turned as the man collapsed to the deck, and Brock touched neatly down behind him.

“Thanks,” the Captain said.

Brock smirked at him. “Pretty helpless without me, huh?”

The rest of his men gently touched down as the Captain ran off. Brock did a swift, silent headcount. Thankfully, none of them had been blown or drifted off course to land in the ocean. He gestured for the group of them to begin sweeping the aft side of the boat, then crooked a finger at Rollins. “Come on,” he murmured. “Galley’s up top. Two entrances, according to the plans. We’ll get the second one, trap Batroc’s men in the middle. Just be careful not to shoot the hostages.”

After all, Director Pierce wouldn’t be pleased if one of his top lieutenants got caught in the crossfire.

* * *

It had been a good thing that Brock had first heard about Captain America being discovered alive and well when he was alone with Director Pierce, because he was fairly certain that the slack-jawed expression of astonishment he had to be wearing was not an image he wanted to give his underlings.

“ _Alive_?” he’d repeated.

Director Pierce had remained blank-faced, but Brock could see the bewildered annoyance in his eyes. “Alive,” the man confirmed, thoughtfully swirling his glass of whiskey. “Still half a block of ice, but the scientists say he’s just asleep; they’re confident that once he’s… thawed out, that he’ll wake right up.”

“That’s… Wow.” Brock shook his head.

“It’s an unprecedented situation,” Pierce agreed. “Discussions are being had as to what we’re going to do with him. Fury wants him for that ridiculous group he’s putting together, but I think it might be best putting him in the STRIKE teams.” _Where he’s under our control,_ was left unsaid although Brock heard it loud and clear.

He'd been dismissed from that meeting with instructions to keep the Captain’s survival quiet, except for those few members of his team who wouldn’t deal well with having the knowledge sprung on them. Most agents were well aware of the need to blend in, but there were a couple who were more fanatical than most. Having one of them be surprised by the sudden reappearance of their old enemy and attempt to kill him wouldn’t do them any good at all. Brock had to ease them into the knowledge so they could have their temper tantrums somewhere unobtrusive.

* * *

Of course, things had been changed by the unexpected alien invasion. There was no keeping Captain America a secret after that. The man didn’t know the meaning of the word ‘discretion’ and had freely announced to all and sundry that yes, he was _that_ Captain America. Director Pierce, holed up in a bunker deep below the Triskelion with Brock’s STRIKE team in case the invasion spread from New York, had not been pleased.

He'd been even less pleased when Fury had reported that Captain America had decided to go off on a road trip.

“He’s a national _bloody_ icon!” Pierce had spluttered, and Brock had winced from his position as Pierce’s bodyguard. “He can’t just go roaming up and down the country, following whatever whim possesses him!”

“Now, be fair to the man,” Fury drawled, leaning back in the office chair and putting his feet up on the desk. It wasn’t even his desk! “He _has_ just spent the last seventy years frozen like an ice cube in the Arctic Ocean. Man deserves a vacation.”

Pierce spun away from Fury with a wordless growl. “We’ve got plenty of jobs to do to keep him busy if that’s what he needs,” he said, after swallowing down his temper. Brock winced again. That wasn’t going to be good for his STRIKE team. Although… maybe he could direct Pierce towards the Asset instead.

“I’d call him back, but… he’s not exactly up to date with technology yet,” said Fury, giving a shrug that was supposed to be apologetic but didn’t mean squat. “Doesn’t have a cell phone.”

_Like that had ever stopped them before,_ Brock scoffed to himself. Fury just didn’t want Captain America back in SHIELD’s hands yet. Luckily, it was not his job to try and see the whys and wherefores of the spymaster’s thought processes. His job was to do as he was told.

* * *

For all the pomp and pageantry around him, Steve Rogers himself was very unassuming when Brock met him in person for the first time. In fact, if he hadn’t been so well known, Brock wouldn’t have realised there was anything different about him at all until they shook hands and the captain’s grip was firm enough that Brock was slightly worried for the state of his fingers.

“Captain Rogers will be joining your STRIKE team as a… satellite agent,” Fury informed him. “He has his own mission here; yours is just to get him where he needs to be and then out again.”

“Of course.” Rumlow glanced at Rogers. “Glad to be working with you, Captain.”

“Likewise,” said Rogers, but it sounded more like something he said by rote than something he really meant. That was alright; Brock hadn’t really meant his statement, either.

And so here they were, several missions later, trying to rescue their people from Batroc and his pirates. Rogers had gone after Batroc directly. Brock hoped he didn’t kill the pirate – Pierce still had plans for him.

In the meantime… “No sign of the Widow,” he reported to Rogers as he hastened some of the newly freed hostages towards the pick-up point. Not that he needed to see her to know what she was doing. Fury hadn’t sent both her and Rogers on this mission for nothing, considering they didn’t _need_ either of them. Brock would have been insulted at the very thought that his STRIKE team needed _Captain America_ to get anything done.

They were at least a decent distraction, though. Whilst Rogers was off somewhere blowing up parts of the ship, and Widow was sneaking her way through who knew what, Brock was able to check in with Jasper Sitwell, who was currently holding on to some information that Director Pierce was _very_ eager to see. The man smirked at Brock as he patted his jacket.

An even louder explosion much too close for comfort made them all duck for cover, as their two missing team members came sprinting towards them all. Batroc, Brock presumed, had made his escape from the other side of the ship. Neither Rogers nor the Widow looked happy and, once they and the hostages had been picked up, they huddled into a corner and resumed a hissing argument that had obviously been interrupted.

“Trouble in paradise?” Rollins murmured into Brock’s ear as they stowed some of their weapons away.

“Fury sent her in to get information about the ship,” Brock muttered back. “Bet you Rogers didn’t know about it beforehand and discovered her at it.”

Rollins tsked and shook his head in mock admonishment. “She’ll never keep him interested like that,” he said. “Paragon of righteousness can’t be warming the bed of someone who’s constantly in and out of other beds.”

“I doubt she’s told him much about her background,” Brock pointed out. “Probably thinks the Red Room’s too similar for him.”

“Or that he’s just too _nice_ to understand what it was like,” Sitwell added, passing behind them to change seats. “After all, he’s not really spy material, is he?”

Brock tipped his head as he considered this, hands idly stripping down one of the guns he’d been using. “She probably convinced him that she’d turned over a new leaf,” he concluded, eventually. “Big bad Red Room brainwashed her and made her do nasty shit, and now she’s trying to make up for it with SHIELD.”

Sitwell and Rollins both stifled laughter. Even the parts of SHIELD they _hadn’t_ infiltrated weren’t exactly Boy Scouts. As Brock had heard the alien that had spearheaded the invasion of New York state while he’d been a prisoner, they were all still liars and killers. It was just a matter of which side they were doing it _for_.

The three of them pretended to be looking elsewhere as Rogers threw his hands up in exasperation and stomped off towards the other end of the plane, putting as much distance as he could between himself and the Widow. Rogers didn’t seem to notice them looking, but the Widow obviously did. She merely scowled at them all and retreated to her own seat.

Brock stifled a chuckle as he began cleaning his gun. He did not envy Fury trying to keep _that pair_ in line.

* * *

It was obvious, Brock reflected some hours later, that somebody hadn’t done a good enough job of keeping _Fury_ in line. And now they’d sent the Asset after him, in broad daylight. He hadn’t thought that was a good idea – after all, the Asset worked best from the shadows, like the ghost the intelligence community thought of him as – but nobody had asked for _his_ opinion.

Pierce was meandering around his office, not really doing any work, but needing to be seen as in the building and thus well away from any… _situations_ that might be arising around soon-to-be-ex-Director Fury. Brock and his STRIKE team were in a conference room down the hall, waiting to be called to action, but Pierce had his earpiece in so Brock could easily pick up the sound of the Director’s movements.

He was excited, Brock thought. Another obstacle was about to be removed from their path. And Project Insight was due to launch within twenty-four hours, and then a whole _lot_ of obstacles would be removed.

Apparently, though, Fury still had several tricks up his sleeve.

“The Asset’s lost him,” one of STRIKE team Epsilon said. “I repeat, Director Fury is still alive and has gone to ground somewhere.”

_Shit_ , Brock thought, and saw the thought echoed on the faces of his team.

Director Pierce stopped moving. “Check the safe houses in the city,” he ordered. “Pay attention to the bugs. Which one is suddenly playing loud music when it shouldn’t be? And keep a close eye on Agents Hill and Romanoff; they’re part of Fury’s little inner circle. If he goes to anyone, it’s likely to be one of those two. Rumlow, STRIKE team Delta will take control of the Asset. Go watch Rogers’ apartment. Considering the fuss the man put up about his actions with the Lemurian Star, then Fury will probably consider him safe.”

“Yes, sir,” both teams murmured in chorus.

As Brock’s team and the Asset settled in opposite the apartment building that Rogers had chosen to live in, he wondered if he was finally going to get to see the Asset go up against the Captain. Ever since the man had been brought out of the ice, there had been bets going on about which supersoldier would win. Very few ever bet on Rogers.

“Well, either Rogers managed to get himself up-to-date enough with technology to programme a radio, or we got ourselves an intruder in there,” Rollins observed, pressing a finger to the headset he was using to listen through the bugs in the apartment.

“You sure it isn’t Rogers?” someone else asked.

Brock shook his head. “He was spotted visiting some veteran centre. Should be on his way back now…” And even as he spoke, Rogers’ motorcycle was roaring up to the building. “Ready stations,” Brock murmured into his headset. “If it turns out Fury _is_ in that building, the Asset will take the shot. Things could get a bit exciting. Prepare for Rogers on the hunt.”

His team members confirmed their readiness. Which would have been fine…

—if Rogers hadn’t decided to chase after the Asset by tearing through the _entire length of the building_ to get to him. About the only good thing about the whole debacle was that Brock got to see the Asset _catch_ Rogers’ precious frisbee, and then throw it back at him hard enough that Rogers was almost pushed back off his feet.

It was almost worth the chewing out Pierce was sure to give him.

* * *

It was absolutely _not_ worth the humiliatingly easy way that Rogers managed to put down an _entire STRIKE team_. By the time Brock fought his way back to consciousness, Rogers had flown the coop and Pierce had declared him _persona non grata_. Every available agent was combing through surveillance trying to find the missing icon.

Pierce was additionally annoyed that the data Fury had had Romanoff gather for him was still with her. Or with Rogers, who was probably making his way towards her right now, if he hadn’t already reached her. They all knew exactly where she was – still in the hospital where Fury had breathed his last. Brock hadn’t thought the Black Widow was capable of forming that deep a bond to still be torn up over the loss.

Unless, of course, she was waiting for something.

Or someone.

“I knew it was a bad idea to have Zola run that ship,” Pierce fumed, pacing his office. “If I know our Widow like I think I do, then she’ll have taken Rogers and gone somewhere public to try and access that flash drive. Zola has his own protections, but it’ll allow us to track them. Rumlow, get set up with whatever you need to track the signal as soon as it goes live. Take three of your men with you. And try to bring them in alive. It wouldn’t look good if Captain America was taken out with civilians in the way.”

“Sir,” he acknowledged, and strode for the office door, beckoning with his head for Rollins to follow him.

As they strategically searched what turned out to be a public mall for Rogers and the Black Widow, Brock couldn’t help but remember the last time he’d gone hunting for the Widow.

Pierce’s contact in the Red Room – even as obsolete as it was, it was still not a good idea to discard them _yet_ – had dropped him a casual line that, when reading through it, showed that the higher-ups there were in a major flap, because they’d lost track of one of their graduates.

Black Widows didn’t do vacations. They didn’t do freelancing. And they certainly didn’t fall off the grid so completely that their handlers were beginning to reach out to see if anyone _else_ had seen them.

Pierce had been delighted at the chance to bring in another asset, especially one who’d been trained by _the_ Asset. The Red Room programme had trained females, which meant there was another skillset for Pierce to use that the Asset just didn’t have. The Asset, after all, was a fighter, not a lover.

Of course, the problem was _finding_ the little Widow. It was doubtful that she’d remained in Russia – although it wasn’t impossible that she’d called everyone’s bluff and gone to ground there – but that still left a lot of countries where she could be. To be honest, Brock had rather enjoyed the chase; it was almost like a vacation for him, getting to travel to various places and even do a bit of sightseeing to see if they could lure her out of hiding.

They couldn’t, of course, but when they began finding Red Room leaders turning up dead from supposed ‘accidents’, then they knew they were at least on the right trail.

And then one night, in Bonn of all places, Brock had come across a stunningly beautiful woman, who had taunted and teased and flirted with him but had not meant one little bit of it. She was good, he’d give her that, but she hadn’t quite managed to push the feelings into her eyes. Still, he’d allowed her to seduce him, knowing that other SHIELD agents – ones not on his team – were also closing in and figuring that he might as well enjoy a few hours before calling for pick-up for them both.

They’d spent the night in a little hole-in-the-wall dive, drinking, feeding each other, dancing, then stumbling their way towards the nearest hotel, where they’d done some dancing of a different kind.

Brock had woken up the next morning handcuffed to an empty bed and discovered, when he finally managed to get free and meet up with his team again, that the Black Widow had been captured by Clint Barton, one of Coulson’s pet agents and therefore one of Fury’s.

Even worse, Barton hadn’t even _shot_ her. Instead, he’d had her in his crosshairs for a while, and then walked right up to her and informed her that he’d been sent to kill her but thought she’d be better off joining SHIELD instead. The bastard had then waltzed off into the sunset with her, figuratively speaking, and all the way into SHIELD headquarters.

With Barton now retired and off in Bumfuck, Nowhere, hopefully _this_ time, Brock’s search for the Black Widow would be a _little_ more successful.

* * *

It wasn’t.

* * *

_What an absolute clusterfuck_.

Brock would like to know whose bright idea it had been to try and bring an enraged and righteous Captain America back to the Triskelion, especially when they were so close to launching Project Insight. He should have made sure to do something to Romanoff’s shoulder when they were ‘arresting’ her, something that would have hopefully put her out of commission. It would have been a shame – with her background, she’d make a wonderful agent for them if they could just get her on their side – but needs must until Insight was done.

Gritting his teeth, Brock stabbed another agent rushing at him in the throat. He’d at least managed to launch the helicarriers himself and was now heading up to where Pierce was apparently in the Council Room with the Black Widow. There were just so – many – _damn_ – agents that were in his way.

_“You think I’m gonna be runnin’ up and down all those damn stairs if we happen to get attacked?”_ Barton’s voice whispered in the back of his mind. _“Hell no! Vents are quicker and easier, man, plus it gives you the element of surprise since the suckers won’t know you’re comin’ until you leap out at ‘em.”_

Barton, Brock absently conceded, may have had a point. Unfortunately, he had no idea where the vent system even was, and no idea how to access it, and no idea what directions to take once in it to get to where he needed to be.

So – he grunted as he shot another agent in the ribs – looked like he’d have to settle for the good ol’-fashioned stairwell this time.

He was taken completely by surprise as something barrelled into him from the side. They crashed through a door into an office, and Brock quickly untangled himself from what turned out to be the guy that had been helping the Widow and Captain America.

The beating he was about to give the upstart was derailed by the appearance of one of the helicarriers, which was unfortunately in freefall and heading straight for them.

And let Brock be the first to say that having a crumbling helicarrier smash through the side of a building and land on top of you seriously _sucked_. He couldn’t tell how long he was trapped under the debris for; he was fairly certain there had been a large amount of time where he’d been unconscious, and even now his attention kept wavering and drifting off.

_“Welcome to SHIELD_ ,” he thought he heard Fury say, somewhere far in the distance. _“You’ve been recruited because you are the best of the best. What you will do here is going to save the world.”_

_“We will save the world from itself,”_ Pierce added. _“People fear chaos, the uncertainty it brings. We will bring order to the world, to save it from itself.”_

_“It was either this or jail,”_ Barton informed him. _“It was the first time I’d ever been told I could do something **good**.”_

_“Are you a good boy?”_ Romanoff’s sultry voice whispered. _“Does this feel good to you, baby? Let me in, that’s it. I’ll make you feel so good you won’t even remember your name.”_

_“We can bring order to seven billion people,”_ Pierce continued. _“Freedom. If you have the courage to take the next step.”_

_“The price for freedom is high,”_ countered Rogers, sternly. _“I’m willing to pay it. Are you?”_

_Oh, fuck off,_ Brock thought, irritably. Couldn’t a man race towards death in peace?

He didn’t want to; he wasn’t suicidal after all, but considering how much everything _hurt_ then he rather thought it was inevitable. The majority of his body felt pulverised, ground to dust beneath the remnants of the helicarrier, and parts of the aircraft were on fire. Parts that were… rather too close to Brock for his comfort. Of course, it had already been on fire when it had crash-landed on him, but most of his exposed skin felt tight and – honestly – dead.

His last glimpse of Rogers’ friend had been of his back taking a flying leap out of the window, followed by still more of the helicarrier. He hoped, fervently, that the bastard had ended up going splat on the ground below. Perhaps, if he’d been very, very lucky, the falling helicarriers had even taken out Captain America, too. He doubted even something like that would keep the supersoldier down for long, but if a man couldn’t dream when he was dying, then when _could_ he?

Just like he was dreaming the noise of people coming to find him.

…Oh…

* * *

Recovery was long and hard, and Brock spent every pain filled moment cursing both Rogers and Romanoff. Everyone in the burns unit where he’d been taken was apparently obsessed with the Avengers, so Brock got to hear a lot more than he wanted to about all the _good_ they were doing.

As he struggled through the physical therapy to allow him to walk again, shakily balancing on legs that were more pins than bone, he wondered whether the Widow was teaching her new team some of her moves, like she’d taught the STRIKE team when she’d first been brought in.

“I know you all think you’re tough,” she’d said to the group of two dozen or so men, looking laughably small as she stood in front of all of them, “but I promise for this first time, I’ll go easy on you.”

Clint Barton had been stood to one side, watching, and he’d smirked as most of the men laughed. Romanoff had smiled and asked for a volunteer. One man – Brock thought it had been Dawkins – had stepped forward with a swagger and his lips twisted into a leer. He’d obviously been expecting to end up with the Widow beneath him.

Instead, moving so fast she’d been a blur, Romanoff had spun into movement and in five seconds flat, Dawkins was on his back and gasping for air through a spasming windpipe. The rest of the men had gaped at Romanoff, who didn’t even have a hair out of place.

“Is that all you got?” she’d asked, quirking an eyebrow down at Dawkins. “I thought SHIELD agents were supposed to be the best?”

Several men had rushed her at that, apparently under the impression that more would help. It hadn’t, and they’d all been laid out just as quickly as Dawkins had been. Brock had hung back, as the remaining men had all tried their hardest to put this woman in her place. It was as if they’d all completely forgotten that she was Red Room trained.

In just a few short minutes, Brock was the only one left standing, and the only one who hadn’t attempted anything. Romanoff had raised an eyebrow at him and beckoned him on with a crooked finger. Circling her warily, he thought back over everyone else’s mistakes, and lunged in low at her legs.

But when she leapt up to – as she thought – go over the top of him and land on his shoulders, he abruptly changed his direction and lunged upwards, leading with the side of one hand. His hand caught her in the throat, and she landed back on the ground, coughing. Once she’d caught her breath again, she studied him equally as warily as he’d studied her, before her mouth twisted up into a smirk and she burst into a whirlwind of action.

Of course, Brock hadn’t lasted much longer than the other guys had, in the end. But he _had_ lasted a _bit_ longer, and so he thought she might not have put him down as hard as she had the others, although it still knocked the wind out of him for several moments.

“Well, I see I’ve got my work cut out for me,” Romanoff had said, not even doing them the courtesy of at least _pretending_ to breathe heavily. “Same time next week, ladies?” And she’d sauntered off with Barton, leaving them in heaps on the floor.

Thinking of it now, Brock gritted his teeth and slowly inched one leg forward another quarter of an inch. Rogers and Romanoff had done this to him, and they were going to pay for it. So he had to get _better_. He needed to be able to move without collapsing in agonising pain.

He needed to be able to _fight_ them.

And that friend of theirs with the wings that had somehow become part of the Avengers, too. He _definitely_ had some payback coming to him, because if it hadn’t been for him, Brock wouldn’t have been in that office when the helicarrier crashed into the Triskelion.

Every little step would get him closer to his goal. He braced himself and shuffled the other leg forward. _Every little step…_

* * *

One good thing about his new look? The Widow’s Bites didn’t work on him anymore. Brock savoured the look of surprise on her face as he dropped her into a tank after a grenade and shut the lid on her. Then he turned to go and deal with Captain Righteous.

He had been building towards this for well over two years now. It had taken just over one for him to be able to walk normally again, and he’d had to spend some of that time building up his contacts again. With most of the top HYDRA people dead now – and the Scarlet Witch apparently on the _Avengers’_ side – then it had taken a while for him to gain enough support to be allowed into the kinds of things that would draw the Avengers’, and especially Rogers’, attention.

For the last six months, he’d been whetting their appetite for him by remaining in hiding whilst floating various rumours about his whereabouts and activities. And now, with another cell aiming to steal a bioweapon, it seemed the perfect time had finally come.

The blows he exchanged with Rogers were oddly cathartic, and even more oddly reminiscent of the training that Rogers had done with STRIKE team Delta when he’d first come out of the ice. But this time, the good Captain wasn’t pulling his punches like he had been back then, worried about hurting someone who was on his side.

Now they were both trying to put down an enemy.

Brock backhanded Rogers with all the power he could muster, causing Rogers to stagger back a step into the crowd. It seemed odd that he hadn’t worried about evacuating any of them. He had been, Brock recalled, quite insistent at the start that the first priority was ensuring civilians were removed from the scene.

Brock had, in turn, invited Rogers to a movie night with the Delta team, where he deliberately chose the first Men In Black. Considering that had been after the Invasion of New York, he rather thought Rogers might have missed the point he was trying to make; that in a scenario full of monsters, it had been the little human girl who’d been the most dangerous.

_He seems to miss an awful lot of points_ , Brock thought, just as Rogers did something to him and he collapsed to the ground, winded. Grimacing in resignation, Brock reached up and pulled off his mask. Rogers’ expression didn’t even flicker. Not even a look of disgust. Brock was… mildly impressed by that. It had taken him _months_ before he’d been able to stop cringing at the sight of himself.

“You know,” he said, casually, “he remembered you. Your pal, your buddy, your _Bucky_.” Ah, and _there_ was the flicker of expression that Brock had been after. Not disgust, or chagrin, or remorse, but rather eagerness.

“What did you say?” Rogers demanded.

Brock smirked at him. “He remembered you. Got all weepy about it, so we had to stick his brain back in the blender.” He inched his hand towards the vest he was wearing, as Rogers’ expression became anguished. “He wanted me to tell you something. He said, ‘Tell Rogers, when you gotta go, you gotta go’. And you’re coming with me.”

He pressed the detonator.


End file.
